The Perils of Ideology

As part of my preparation for the class on World Mysticism I’ll be teaching next month through Evening at Emory, I’m reading a book called History of Mysticism: The Unchanging Testament by S. Abhayananda. The “S” stands for Swami. The author, a westerner whose birth name is Stan Trout, reports having had an enlightenment experience when he was 28 years old; he’s now self-published several books in which he traces the golden thread of mysticism in both its eastern and western guises. This historical survey has been for the most part a delight to read, especially since it has filled in a few gaps in my knowledge about eastern visionaries (figures like Shankara, Dattatreya, and Jnaneshvar were introduced to me by this book). Meanwhile, the author’s treatment of western mystics such as Plotinus or Meister Eckhart are for the most part fair and accurate. But there is one towering problem with the book.

The good Swami recognizes, presumably out of his own experience, that a profound mystical experience erases all sense of duality — i.e., the feeling that I am somehow separate from God and/or the universe — and throws a harsh bright light on the basic illusion of separateness that characterizes ‘ordinary’ consciousness. “The eye by which I see God is the same as the eye by which God sees me,” is how Eckhart puts it, quoted by Abhayananda in this book. Nonduality is a basic component of both mystical experience and mystical theology. All this is well and good. Meanwhile, duality is a characteristic of what I call “survival mind,” or ordinary consciousness. Those who have tasted nonduality discover, one way or another, that part of the challenge of living a spiritual life is the challenge of having to continue living in a world that plays by dualistic rules. Part of the joy of studying the mystics is discovering their many and varied strategies for cultivating lifelong holiness, even after coming down from the mountain top.

Abhayananda, at least in this book, makes what I believe to be one of the biggest mistakes a person can make regarding their own enlightenment experience: he turns the dualism of the world back on itself. He declares that only those people who have directly experienced nonduality deserve to be called mystics; anyone who does not report such an experience, or who attacks such an experience, or who seem to be writing about it only in abstract ways, simply doesn’t make the cut. As Abhayananda presents it, a profound experience of mystical nonduality is good, while anything else is not-good (or at least, not-good-enough).

Not only is this a big mistake, but it’s a common one. So I can excuse the Swami for doing so. But it’s a drum he beats mercilessly and relentlessly throughout his book. He’s really got a hidden agenda in a book that is purportedly a survey of mystical history: the hidden agenda being to convince readers that mysticism is only “real” mysticism when the mystic experiences complete and total oneness with God. Anything less is simply ersatz.

Sigh.

The book ends up reading like a one-note ideological screed. I’m about 2/3 of the way through it, and every time the author starts pontificating yet again on how only those who have experienced nonduality truly deserve to be called mystics, my eyes just glaze over. As if I didn’t already get the message. Multiple times.

On one level, Abhayananda is simply reacting against the pervading anti-mystical ideology that is so prevalent in the west, thanks to the unfortunate marriage of Christianity and imperialism that comes to us courtesy of Constantine and his successors. But the grand joke of mysticism is this: since everything partakes in the Divine nature, nothing is excluded! In other words, mystical grace even extends to those who have never had a mystical experience, who believe to the bottom of their hearts that God and creation are forever separate, and … and… yes, even to those who insist that you can’t be a mystic unless your experience is “good enough.” Yep. Even ideology is bathed in the divine splendour.

Now. If only I can remember this when ideology — and ideologues — annoy me!

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The Perils of Ideology

As part of my preparation for the class on World Mysticism I’ll be teaching next month through Evening at Emory, I’m reading a book called History of Mysticism: The Unchanging Testament by S. Abhayananda. The "S" stands for Swami. The author, a westerner whose birth name is Stan Trout,  reports having had an enlightenment experience when he was 28 years old; he’s now self-published several books in which he traces the golden thread of mysticism in both its eastern and western guises. This historical survey has been for the most part a delight to read, especially since it has filled in a few gaps in my knowledge about eastern visionaries (figures like Shankara, Dattatreya, and Jnaneshvar were introduced to me by this book). Meanwhile, the author’s treatment of western mystics such as Plotinus or Meister Eckhart are for the most part fair and accurate. But there is one towering problem with the book.

 The good Swami recognizes, presumably out of his own experience, that a profound mystical experience erases all sense of duality — i.e., the feeling that I am somehow separate from God and/or the universe — and throws a harsh bright light on the basic illusion of separateness that characterizes ‘ordinary’ consciousness. "The eye by which I see God is the same as the eye by which God sees me," is how Eckhart puts it, quoted by Abhayananda in this book. Nonduality is a basic component of both mystical experience and mystical theology. All this is well and good. Meanwhile, duality is a characteristic of what I call "survival mind," or ordinary consciousness. Those who have tasted nonduality discover, one way or another, that part of the challenge of living a spiritual life is the challenge of having to continue living in a world that plays by dualistic rules. Part of the joy of studying the mystics is discovering their many and varied strategies for cultivating lifelong holiness, even after coming down from the mountain top.

Abhayananda, at least in this book, makes what I believe to be one of the biggest mistakes a person can make regarding their own enlightenment experience: he turns the dualism of the world back on itself. He declares that only those people who have directly experienced nonduality deserve to be called mystics; anyone who does not report such an experience, or who attacks such an experience, or who seem to be writing about it only in abstract ways, simply doesn’t make the cut. As Abhayananda presents it, a profound experience of mystical nonduality is good, while anything else is not-good (or at least, not-good-enough).

Not only is this a big mistake, but it’s a common one. So I can excuse the Swami for doing so. But it’s a drum he beats mercilessly and relentlessly throughout his book. He’s really got a hidden agenda in a book that is purportedly a survey of mystical history: the  hidden agenda being to convince readers that mysticism is only "real" mysticism when the mystic experiences complete and total oneness with God. Anything less is simply ersatz.

Sigh.

The book ends up reading like a one-note ideological screed. I’m about 2/3 of the way through it, and every time the author starts pontificating yet again on how only those who have experienced nonduality truly deserve to be called mystics, my eyes just glaze over. As if I didn’t already get the message. Multiple times.

On one level, Abhayananda is simply reacting against the pervading anti-mystical ideology that is so prevalent in the west, thanks to the unfortunate marriage of Christianity and imperialism that comes to us courtesy of Constantine and his successors.  But the grand joke of mysticism is this: since everything partakes in the Divine nature, nothing is excluded! In other words, mystical grace even extends to those who have never had a mystical experience, who believe to the bottom of their hearts that God and creation are forever separate, and … and… yes, even to those who insist that you can’t be a mystic unless your experience is "good enough." Yep. Even ideology is bathed in the divine splendour.

Now. If only I can remember this when ideology — and ideologues — annoy me!

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Union with Christ: A Bibliography

This is fun. The title says it all:

An Annotated Bibliography of Resources Pertaining to "Christ in You" and "Union with Christ"

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A new dream, an old friend, and the price we pay for following our hearts

Last night I dreamt about my good friend, co-author, and non-biological sister — Dancingwriter on LiveJournal. We were both attending a conference out of state (perhaps the 2007 International Congress on Medieval Studies?), and while many of the folks around us were using this time away from home (and their spouses) to behave like teenagers, she and I spent pretty much all of our free time with each other, hanging out, talking — something we’ve never had trouble doing! — and rather blithely ignoring the hormonal frenzy surrounding us. It made perfect sense, as we both share a deep love for our respective partners, along with a genuine sibling-like affection for one another. The dream meandered along, making no point other than this celebration of friendship and fidelity. I woke up thinking I need to call her; haven’t seen her since June which means it has been far too long.

What an innocent dream, and so Catholic of me — to dream about maintaining my chastity with a trusted friend while everyone around us threw their boundaries to the wind. But in truth, it’s not really inherently "Catholic" or "Christian" at all: Dancingwriter and her husband (KingoftheWho) are dedicated followers of the old Welsh ways, leaders in the community and highly respected for their gentle personalities, strong sense of values, and committed love for one another. In the neopagan subculture where so much interpersonal excitement is driven by various people’s adventures (and misadventures) in polyamory, their devotion to one another shines like a beacon of hope.

It’s been two years now since the agonizing summer of 2004, when I struggled internally with a call to explore Catholicism that threatened to sabotage just about everything about my life at the time: my writing and teaching career, my social network, my existing religious/spiritual identity. I had several friends to whom I regularly confided my struggles, but Dancingwriter was not one of them. The reason? We were collaborating on a project together — Magic of the Celtic Gods and Goddesses — and I didn’t want to jeopardize it. As I saw it, if my draw to Catholicism were only a "phase," then no point in sabotaging the book by drawing my co-author into the web of my internal struggle. And if it were more than just a phase, then I knew this would be my last pagan book — and at the time, I wasn’t ready to give up being a pagan author, not yet. So I worked on the book, and strived to be as authentically "pagan" as I could, and I hid from my co-author and my editors and anyone else associated with the book the insistent dynamics of my increasing sense of being called back into the world of mystical Christianity.

Now it’s 2006 and everyone knows the choice I made. Meanwhile Magic of the Celtic Gods and Goddesses gets panned on reconstructionist e-lists for no other reason than because I’m one of the authors — fallout from how some Pagans feel angered and betrayed by the path I’ve followed. Well, if anyone had a right to be furious with me, it’s DancingWriter. And yet, in response to my spiritual wanderlust she has been nothing but gracious and kind, giving her "brother" the space to follow his path even while she’s clear that it’s not a path she shares. If more Pagans — and Christians, not to mention adherents of other faiths — could share in her large and generous spirit, what a wonderful world it would be.

Now, ours is a world which keeps on spinning, and as the old Wiccan chant affirms, "She changes everything she touches." These days my interests lie in tracing the development of the Orthodox doctrine of deification (theosis) and how it correlates to Ken Wilber’s integral theory of consciousness; I’m learning all I can about Benedictine and Cistercian spirituality, with a particular focus on its relevance to laypersons here in the 21st century; and of course I remain profoundly in love with the writing of Julian of Norwich, and out of the class I’ll be teaching on her this fall, I want to develop a curriculum for presenting the core ideas of Julian’s spiritual theology to those who may not be familiar with her work.

So what about Celtic stuff? Frankly, my main interest in the Celtic world these days is in looking at the affinities between pre-Roman Catholic Celtic Christianity with Eastern Orthodoxy, and seeing to what extent those affinities may have defined what made "Celtic" Christianity unique in the west. Put another way: is deification part of what made the Irish spirit so persistently mystical?

These are interests I love, and I have good friends who share these passions. My life, so deeply transformed when I became a Catholic, is settling in to its new identity, and I’ve got more going on in the writing and teaching department than I expected this soon. But when I think of dear old friends, like Dancingwriter, a sigh does escape my lips. I wonder: would my enthusiasm for tracing the influence of Plotinus in the theology of Pseudo-Dionysius just bore my old friends to tears?

I’m afraid so. But of course, not so afraid as to change who I am. After all, I wouldn’t want to throw my boundaries to the wind.

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Answers to Contemplation’s Objectors

I continue to be amazed at how some Christians reject, if not outright attack, contemplative and centering prayer. As best I can tell, the anti-contemplation arguments can be distilled down to three basic ideas: 1) People shouldn’t practice contemplative prayer before they are ready; 2) Contemplative and centering prayer are “un-Christian” because of their similarities to eastern forms of meditation; and 3) If a person silences his or her mind, it’s an invitation for the devil to enter. Now, the most obvious irony is that the first objection sees contemplative prayer as such a paragon of Christian spirituality that most Christians aren’t good enough to do it; while the second objection sees it as so sullied by non-Christian influence that it is therefore not good enough for Christians to bother with! The third (and saddest/most ridiculous) of the objections is nothing more than the paralysis of metaphysical fear, but obviously this does impact how some people approach life (let alone spirituality), so it needs to be addressed. Now, let’s take a closer look at each of these objections in turn.

Objection 1. Contemplative Prayer is such an advanced form of Christian spirituality that people should not do it before they’re ready: they should just stick to “ordinary” prayers like the rosary or intercessory prayer.

I do believe that centering/contemplative prayer needs to be part of a “balanced spiritual diet.” In other words, it is important to cultivate a discipline of daily silent prayer in the context of regular scripture study, lectio divina, frequent participation in corporate worship (the Eucharist or the Daily Office), working with a spiritual director/confessor, and a commitment to bringing the light of Divine Love to the world through feeding the poor, caring for the environment, or some other work of mercy.

But saying that one shouldn’t engage in contemplative prayer before one is ready is kind of like saying one shouldn’t read the Bible before one is ready — or participate in the Eucharist — or even repent of one’s sins. Contemplation is a gentle and loving spiritual practice, challenging on some levels but within the grasp even of children and teenagers. The experience of the many thousands of ordinary individuals who have found a closer, more intimate, more loving relationship with God through contemplative prayer makes it clear: far from waiting until you’re “ready,” silent prayer is something so valuable that it’s best to start it as soon as possible.

Objection 2. Contemplative prayer is dangerous, because it contains non-Christian elements, and/or is based on/resembles eastern meditation.

There are two ways of responding to this objection. First of all, how quickly the anti-contemplatives forget! In the 1970s, Christianity as a community was hemorrhaging members, as more and more individuals opted for either a secular life or a new approach to spirituality through eastern mysticism, transcendental meditation, and yoga. The early proponents of centering prayer (Thomas Keating, M. Basil Pennington, William Meninger) recognized that TM in particular was attracting a growing community of followers. They reacted to this with consternation, since Christianity had its own tradition of meditative spirituality: contemplation! This can be seen not only in the historical writings of Evagrius Ponticus, John Cassian, The Cloud of Unknowing and other mystical writings, but in the ongoing practice of silent prayer as preserved in Christian monasteries. So the earliest centering prayer programs were designed specifically to offer a Christian alternative to the rising popularity of eastern meditation. It’s kind of like contemporary Christian music: CCM artists often imitate the popular music styles of the day, from rock to rap to metal, as a way of reaching teenagers with a Christian message. The centering prayer movement did the exact same thing, dressing up a traditional Christian spiritual practice (contemplation) in the jargon and postures of currently popular non-Christian practices, simply as a way of reaching out to people who were seeking a deeper spiritual life. I myself would think that Christians should applaud the founders of centering prayer for their insight and ingenuity. But instead, they get attacked for introducing “non-Christian” elements into their spiritual practice. Go figure.

The most vocal opponents of centering and contemplative prayer even discount the long tradition of contemplative prayer in the life of the church, arguing that it all goes back to pagan influences in the days of the desert fathers and mothers, and therefore is suspect all the way down. Perhaps this is a fair assessment, since we do know that mystical theology is strongly influenced by the pagan philosophical school of Neoplatonism. But this leads directly to my second response to this objection: if contemplative prayer represents a Christianised version of non-Christian spirituality, well, so what? It’s hardly the first time this has happened. If Christians want to be zealous about purging non-Christian influences from their faith, they’d better get rid of the first chapter of the Gospel of John, which shows direct influence of pagan philosophical concepts. They’d better chuck out most of the symbolism associated with Christmas and Easter (even the word “Easter” comes from the name of a Germanic goddess!); in fact, most of the liturgical year would need to go: All Saint’s Day has its origins in the pagan festival of Samhain, while Christmas is clearly aligned with ancient winter solstice celebrations like Saturnalia or Yule. In fact, while we’re at it, perhaps we should just get rid of the entire Old Testament (i.e. Hebrew Scriptures), since it is the sacred writings of the community that largely has rejected the claim of Jesus to be the messiah…

If this seems increasingly absurd, well, that’s my point. If conservative Christians really want to go on a witch-hunt (pardon the pun) against everything in their faith that has a non-Christian (or even non-Jewish) origin, they will be left with a diminished faith that will be craven in its xenophobia. This would be direct disobedience of Christ’s command to “be not afraid.” But fear, it seems, is what really lies at the heart of the anti-contemplative agenda (see below for more on this topic).

Let me end this section by quoting from a pre-Vatican II edition of A Catholic Dictionary (edited by Donald Attwater, 3rd edition, 1958): “In paganism, especially before the Christian revelation, the Church has always recognized the existence of natural goodness and truth, the seeds of which the Fathers declare are to be found everywhere. All that is wise and true in the philosophies of antiquity, of Plato, of Plotinus, especially of Aristotle, has been incorporated into the Catholic system; all that is good and beautiful in their literature, arts and culture, whether of Hellas or Honolulu, is welcome to the Catholic mind.” I think here the word “Catholic” needs to be understood in its deepest meaning of “universally Christian.” True Christianity is not afraid of that which is non-Christian. Rather, it embraces all that is good, true, and beautiful within non-Christian culture. So it is with eastern forms of meditation: for if contemplation truly is “eastern” in its origin (and I’ve yet to see the smoking gun), then it is a perfectly good and truly beautiful spiritual practice, transformed into a Christian practice, offered with love and devotion to God through Christ.

Objection 3. Silent forms of prayer are dangerous because in clearing the mind one is opening it to the devil.

With this objection we finally see just how paranoid the anti-contemplatives really are. Theirs is a metaphysics of weakness and vulnerability, in which an open, spacious, silent mind is basically left undefended by Christ and the Holy Spirit, for Satan and his angels to wreak all sorts of malevolent havoc. Eek!

If this is true, then I guess we’d better stop sleeping (I don’t know about you, but every night as I drift off to sleep my mind gets clear), and such things as gazing at sunsets or the seashore must be verboten as well. You never know when the devil will pounce!

But the truth is, this notion that the devil attacks through a silenced mind has no grounding in the Bible or in Christian tradition whatsoever. Indeed, just the opposite is the case: Christianity has long taught that it is thoughts by which the evil spirit can tempt or attack us.

Everyone has malevolent thoughts (indeed, psychological tests like the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory will gauge if a person lies on the test by scoring how honest they are about having negative, violent, paranoid, or other antisocial thoughts). Sure, for some people these thoughts may be less “evil” than others, but just because not everyone fantasizes about molesting children or committing mass murder doesn’t mean that they don’t have their own version of disturbing/negative thought patterns. Here’s what is interesting: traditional Christian theology does not regard such “evil” thoughts as sinful (unless a person cultivates them or takes delight in them). That’s because such thoughts have historically been regarded as temptations.

So what gives? Is temptation a matter of silent prayer, or of enticing thoughts? Traditional theology points to the latter. So why is the silence of contemplative prayer seen as so dangerous? Presumably because it’s like offering the devil a blank slate on which he can write his evil intentions. But this is silly reasoning: for if everyone has tempting thoughts regardless of whether they contemplate or not, then obviously the devil doesn’t need a blank mind to do his dirty work! But what the anti-contemplatives fail to acknowledge is how the clear mind of contemplation is, in truth, an offering not to the devil, but to God. When I engage in silent prayer, I try to slow down the fuss and chatter of my mind so that I can simply rest in the loving presence of God. Frankly, I can’t think of anything the devil would find more distasteful! Instead of being a source of tempting thoughts, centering and contemplative prayer actually function as a tool for healing a mind that is troubled and disturbed by thoughts that lack goodness.

I think the argument that the devil will pounce on the contemplative mind is an argument that gives the devil more power than God. This flies in the face of Christ’s continual message of “Be not afraid” (Matthew 14:27, among others) and “Be of good cheer… for I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). The “world” here refers to the tendencies toward evil that we find, even in our own hearts and minds. We can trust in the light and goodness of God, even when facing our own inner demons. The silence of contemplation does not empower the “dark side” within us, but rather shines a light onto it, thus facilitating true healing which comes from God.

Contemplative prayer has a long history in Christian tradition; it is based on loving God and resting in the light of the Divine presence. A regular practice of it not only fosters a closer sense of God’s presence in our lives, but it also brings measurable physiological and psychological benefits (reduced blood pressure, inner calm and serenity). Given how good contemplative prayer is for us — body, mind and soul — I rather think that it’s not contemplation that is so wrong, but rather the prejudiced attacking of it!

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You’re Late

My father hates to be late. Always has, and I suspect always will. To him, punctuality was not only in between cleanliness and Godliness, it was a requirement if one were to have any hope of salvation. The gates of heaven would be closed and locked right at the moment when eternity begins, and if you’re a millisecond late: well, it’s wailing and gnashing of teeth for you.

Like so many children of compulsive parents, I inherited a split personality when it comes to punctuality: I have a tendency to run late (a passive aggressive way of rebelling against dad, to be sure) but I share my father’s contempt for it. Not so much for other people (although sometimes my wife gets in the firing line), but mostly I just get angry at myself over my tardiness.

So this morning I wanted to go to Mass. Mass at the monastery starts at 7 AM, and it’s a 35 minute drive from my house. You can do the math: I need to be out of the house by 6:25, and if I’m that late getting started, it leaves me no time to really get centered and find my inner quiet before the monks begin chanting.  

It’s a new school year, and Rhiannon has a new CNA (certified nursing assistant) to come help her get out of bed in the morning before the bus arrives (Rhiannon is a stroke survivor with hemiplegic paralysis). WIth the CNA helping Rhiannon get up, Fran and I can take care of ourselves (which is what most people with a 21-year-old get to do in the morning); but if the CNA doesn’t come for whatever reason, it’s up to us to get Rhiannon ready to meet her bus at 7:40.  The CNA is supposed to arrive at 6:15.

This morning she was late. It’s only her third day on the job, and she was late yesterday too. We are anxious that this won’t work out; perhaps she’s unreliable, or has unreliable transportation, or is simply one of those people who’s always late. But the bus is hardly ever late, so Rhiannon needs an assistant who’s on time.

If the CNA doesn’t show up, I can’t leave for work until after I assist Fran in helping Rhiannon get out of bed and get ready for school. Thankfully, I don’t have to be at work until 9 AM, so I have plenty of wiggle room. But it’s nice to be able to go to Mass; Fran supports me going to Mass (she knows how much I need it!), so when the CNA is late, it puts me in a bind. I can’t just toodle on off to Mass: what if the CNA turns out not to show up at all?

The minutes ticked on by. Finally at about 6:30 she called, apologizing for being late but assuring Fran she was on her way. Fran shooed me out the door. "Go on to Mass," she said. "Are you sure?" I replied, knowing how much work she would have to do if she had to get Rhiannon up by herself. "Don’t worry, I don’t want you to be late for Mass."

But I was already late. I got in my car and the clock said 6:34. Even if traffic were favorable, I’d be ten minutes late. My father’s voice echoed in my mind, "I’d rather miss a meeting altogether than show up late." But no, I wasn’t going to give in to his compulsions. Better late than never, I said to myself, as I dashed down I-20, hoping no state troopers were out trolling for speeders.

The last five miles to the monastery are all rural roads, and of course, I got caught behind a truck toodling along at about 30 mph in a 45 mph zone. I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. A continual stream of morning commuters driving into Atlanta going the opposite direction made passing impossible. I tried to remember to keep breathing, and not to tailgate too closely!

 Finally I drove into the monastery grounds. Practically ignoring the serene beauty of the trees and the meadows, I strode as quickly as my legs would permit the walk to the church. I got inside and found my seat just as the monks were finishing the Psalms. A deep breath, practically a sigh, and I flipped through the looseleaf-notebook breviary to find my place.

The Abbey Church is a splendid building, a 2oth century neo-gothic structure with simple concrete arches and radiant stained glass. Several fans were blowing to cool off the un-air-conditioned expanse. The chanting soothed me, and for a moment I forgot how much I had been mentally flagellating myself for being a mere ten minutes late. In fact, listening to the gentle rhythms of the monk’s voices, I realized that everything really was okay. Sure, I was late, but as soon as I got there, it didn’t matter any more.

Then came the morning Gospel reading: Matthew 20:1-16. The parable of the landowner who hired a series of workers, some of whom worked all day, others half a day, others only an hour. At the end of the day everyone got paid a full day’s wage — even those who were (gasp) late getting started.

I broke out into an unguarded smile. It was as if God were having a little goodnatured laugh at my expense. I was reminded: yes, it’s a good thing to be on time. But lateness happens. It’s not the end of the world. And God is much more forgiving of such human foibles than we tend to be ourselves. Perhaps there’s a lesson to be learned in there somewhere…

Who knows? Maybe I’ll even dare to be a little late for eternity. After all, all shall be well as soon as I (eventually) get there. 

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Our Faith

Back in my bookstore-manager days, I was inspired by a fellow named Stew Leonard who operates the "World’s Largest Dairy Store" with several locations in New York and Connecticut. Stew has a simple and powerful customer service statement:

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OUR POLICY

Rule #1: The customer is always right.
Rule #2: If the customer is wrong, re-read rule #1.

---

It seems to have worked, as Leonard’s business is quite successful (I’ve shopped there several times while in New England; it’s an amazing place — more than just a grocery store, Stew Leonard’s features animatronics, costumed characters, and rooms where children of all ages can watch milk being bottled and eggs packaged in cartons. Truly a memorable shopping experience. Go visit the next time you’re in that neck of the woods).

Well, a couple of years ago I created a little sign for my home, that was in part inspired by Stew Leonard’s statement. It’s an outgrowth of conversations that my wife and I had about our faith, and how beneath all the rituals and dogmas and traditions one can find (and be distracted by) in religious observance, faith for us is really a very simple matter. When we returned to the practice of Christian spirituality after our sojourn in fairyland, this simple statement of faith has proved to be an important little reminder for us. Here it is, for your contemplative consideration:

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OUR FAITH

1. We believe completely and entirely in the unconditional love and grace of God: "God is love" (I John 4:16).
2. We believe that all truth, dogma, religious doctrine, ethics, morality, values and traditions can only be understood in the light of the above.

---

Not quite as succinct as Stew Leonard’s statement, but certainly shorter than the Summa Theologica!

Stew Leonard has his mission statement carved in stone (literally). By contrast, our sign is a very simple little thing I created in Microsoft Word. We have it hung up in an inexpensive frame on our hallway wall. Meanwhile, Michael the Calligrapher, on his recent visit to our home, was so enamored of our little statement of faith that he asked for a copy to take home with him. So now we’re keeping our fingers crossed that he will be inspired to transform it into a lovely work of art!

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Our Faith

Back in my bookstore-manager days, I was inspired by a fellow named Stew Leonard who operates the “World’s Largest Dairy Store” with several locations in New York and Connecticut. Stew has a simple and powerful customer service statement:

---

OUR POLICY

Rule #1: The customer is always right.
Rule #2: If the customer is wrong, re-read rule #1.

---

It seems to have worked, as Leonard’s business is quite successful (I’ve shopped there several times while in New England; it’s an amazing place — more than just a grocery store, Stew Leonard’s features animatronics, costumed characters, and rooms where children of all ages can watch milk being bottled and eggs packaged in cartons. Truly a memorable shopping experience. Go visit the next time you’re in that neck of the woods).

Well, a couple of years ago I created a little sign for my home, that was in part inspired by Stew Leonard’s statement. It’s an outgrowth of conversations that my wife and I had about our faith, and how beneath all the rituals and dogmas and traditions one can find (and be distracted by) in religious observance, faith for us is really a very simple matter. When we returned to the practice of Christian spirituality after our sojourn in fairyland, this simple statement of faith has proved to be an important little reminder for us. Here it is, for your contemplative consideration:

---

OUR FAITH

1. We believe completely and entirely in the unconditional love and grace of God: “God is love” (I John 4:16).
2. We believe that all truth, dogma, religious doctrine, ethics, morality, values and traditions can only be understood in the light of the above.

---

Not quite as succinct as Stew Leonard’s statement, but certainly shorter than the Summa Theologica!

Stew Leonard has his mission statement carved in stone (literally). By contrast, our sign is a very simple little thing I created in Microsoft Word. We have it hung up in an inexpensive frame on our hallway wall. Meanwhile, Michael the Calligrapher, on his recent visit to our home, was so enamored of our little statement of faith that he asked for a copy to take home with him. So now we’re keeping our fingers crossed that he will be inspired to transform it into a lovely work of art!

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The Nine Heavenly Choirs

The late 5th/early 6th century Syrian mystic Pseudo-Dionysius the  Areopagite (also known as Dionysius the Areopagite, or Denys the Areopagite) coined the word "hierarchy" from the Greek hieros, "holy," and -arch, "ruler." So hierarchy literally means "rule by the holy ones." Fifteen hundred years later the word has an unsavory reputation as it connotes a rigid, structured system of governance by those in ranked authority: think military hierarchy. But this is hardly what Pseudo-Dionysius meant when he used the word: he was riffing on the Neo-Platonist idea that all forms emanate from (and ultimately return to) the single, formless One. Thus the "ranks" of the hiearchy (whether celestial or earthly) simply refer to the dynamic nature of a universe where all that exists is continually in a state of flux and flow, pouring out from the Divine source, or seeking return to the same.

With this in mind, Pseudo-Dionysius’ map of the nine heavenly choirs (Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Dominions, Powers, Authorities, Principalities, Archangels, Angels) represent not so much a way of speculating about how heaven is run (!), but rather considers that endless beings exist who are beyond us mere mortals in evolutionary terms. Human beings have no inherent authority over dogs or mushrooms or the amoeba, even though clearly we are beyond those fellow-beings in terms of evolution (and never mind how we feeble-minded primates think we have authority!). The Archangels and Seraphim relate to us the same way.

Why should we bother speculating on the minutiae of the celestial hierarchy? Forget about all the Protestant jibes about Catholic theologians counting  the angels who dance on the head of a pin. Pseudo-Dionysius’ model of the celestial hiearchy works fine just as a metaphor, thank you very much. But a metaphor of what? Why, of our future mystical evolution, of course.

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Grumpy > Scalia

A story on the internet this morning laments how a recent survey of Americans reveals that Disney’s version of the Seven Dwarves are more recognizable than the Supreme Court Justices; Harry Potter better known than Tony Blair; Homer Simpson more renowned than Homer the epic poet.

Click to read the story.

While it is very tempting to take cheap shots at how our educational system is failing us, or how pernicious the media is, or what a narcissistic pack of entertainment-besotted drones we’ve all become, I think I’ll pass on the alarmism. Rather, consider the power of a story. What do Snow White, Bart Simpson, Superman, and the young wizard of  Hogwarts all have in common? They inhabit the realm of myth, even if they live in that newly fabricated subdivision called post-modernity.

Perhaps we who love myth ought to be inspired by this otherwise rather unsettling fact: if people would rather bathe their consciousness in story than in history, don’t we have an obligation to tell the best, most visionary, most liberating stories we can?

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